


Edge

by hermitknut



Series: Coin Flip [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Angst, Arthur Pendragon Is King, Druids, Eventual Fluff, F/M, Gen, Golden Age, M/M, Multi, Uther's dead, magic returned to camelot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-15
Packaged: 2018-07-29 07:51:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 7,708
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7676272
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hermitknut/pseuds/hermitknut
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>King Uther is dead; Long Live King Arthur! But it’s not quite that simple. The interregnum – the time between the death of one king and the coronation of the next – is proving to be more complex than it would seem. Two old friends return; but have the last five years changed one of them beyond repair?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Fate (a prologue)

“You can’t go.”

Emrys did not look up from packing his bag, and nor did he answer. Jethar stared at him.

“Why are you doing this?” he asked. “How can you go running back to him, after what he did to you? How can you still trust him?” He paused, before adding, “You owe him nothing.”

Emrys straightened up, his bag across his shoulders.

“It’s not about owing anyone,” he said quietly, still not looking at Jethar. “This is bigger that either of us, I cannot base my decision on what is over.”

He took a few steps towards the mouth of the tent, but Jethar was in his way.

“Over?” the younger man asked, incredulously. “You know it’s not – anyone can see that you still –”

“It is my duty. My destiny.” Emrys’ words were final, spoken without any hesitation. “I should have been able to stay, but fate worked against me. Now that Uther is dying, I can return.”

Jethar swallowed as Emrys walked past him out into the night, then turned and followed him.

“He betrayed you!” Jethar called out as Emrys reached the edge of camp. “He doesn’t deserve your protection!”

Emrys turned and looked straight at Jethar for the first time, the raw pain in his eyes betraying his next words.

“That does not matter.”

He vanished into the surrounding woods. Jethar knew better than to try and follow, but he stood there alone and silent for some time.

~ 

The room was dark and still. The only movement came from a figure sitting on an ornate chair beside the bed, his blinking and breathing the only signs of life.

Arthur gazed upon his father’s face. Uther Pendragon looked peaceful in death; far more peaceful that he had in dying. However, the illness had been swift and unforgiving, and his father was no longer a young enough man to fight it off. He had taken his last breath only minutes ago.

Arthur knew that Gaius was waiting outside, that the castle was full of knights and nobles and servants awaiting his orders, awaiting news of their ill king – but he could not bring himself to move. His mind was in numb turmoil, his thoughts frantic and complex but somehow without any emotion. He supposed, oddly calmly, that it would hit him hard when the loss of his father finally sunk in, but for the moment he did not know how to feel.

 _I should be crying_ , he thought. Unexpectedly, a memory flashed to the forefront of his mind – watching Merlin cry over the father he had only just met and telling him that no man was worth his tears. This memory was accompanied, as all memories of his old servant were, by an aching loss and the sting of guilt. Where had Merlin gone? The young sorcerer seemed to have disappeared completely. Arthur had searched as much as he had dared to without arousing his father’s suspicions, going hunting alone frequently and returning several days later, without news of Merlin. He knew that Gwen was worried about him as well; they all were. But it had been four years since his last message had got to Merlin, and he had received no response.

Arthur leant back into his chair, Merlin’s brilliant blue eyes seared into the forefront of his mind. The unafraid, sarcastic Merlin he had met for the first time outside the castle. The frightened, stumbling Merlin he had set running in the opposite direction, the day of the firestorm. Arthur’s hands gripped the arms of the chair tightly. He had been terrified that the knights and the guards would catch up with Merlin, but they had followed the two horses instead. When they found Arthur alone, several hours later – Arthur was both proud of himself for evading them that long and disappointed that they weren’t good enough to catch him faster – the rain had washed away any tracks or scent that Merlin might have left. He had been taken back to the castle, fully expecting his father’s fury and prepared to deal with whatever consequences – but Uther had barely said a word on the matter and Arthur had spent a sleepless night worrying over the dawn. His father had never spoken of it again, although in the following years the security measures surrounding Camelot began to increase with what Arthur began to recognise as Uther’s own paranoia. He began to see enemies and spies everywhere and soon Arthur had no choice but to travel with a group of knights or stay within the castle’s walls, alone.

Without Morgana, and with Gaius buried in his work, Arthur took to confiding in Gwen, the only other person in the castle who was still a friend to Merlin.

 _Oh, Guinevere_. Arthur had always known that he would have to marry – he had to have an heir, and a legitimate one, to ensure the kingdom’s security. And since he and Merlin had fallen for each other he had known that he could never marry for love; only for the kingdom. He had wondered if anyone would ever understand; if he could ever bring himself to ask the obscene, to marry someone and not love them. But Gwen understood. It helped that her heart also belonged to another – but Lancelot had been easy to find and meet with in secret before their wedding was announced, he understood that Gwen was not betraying him by marrying Arthur. Arthur had tried to find Merlin for the same reason; but in the end he had had to resort to leaving him a letter and waiting for his response.

The response that had never come.

Arthur finally stirred, and, taking one long look at his father he left the room and began his duties with a heavy heart.

~

The night following the eve of Uther’s death was misty, and two men travelled to Camelot. One, riding hard with his dark hair flying behind him, rode clear along the pathways until he reached the city as the sun set. The second arrived within the city walls well after nightfall, hooded in the dull green of the woodland druids and cloaked by the mist itself, an oddly unearthly figure walking along the city roads.

Their minds are different; their moods are different; their skills and talents almost in opposition. But they are both returning.


	2. Reunions

King Uther’s funeral was held two days after his death. Uncrowned King Arthur led the procession of knights, nobles and loyal subjects, his heart heavy but his stance proud, the Lady Guinevere beside him. After the funeral feast was over and done with, planning for the new king’s coronation was set into motion. Robes were brought out and cleaned, parts of the castle that were rarely touched were cleaned and dusted.

Mourning the old king would last one week, as was tradition. At the end of that week the new king would be crowned and the celebrations would welcome in a new era. The entire castle was a flurry of activity; no one was left without jobs to do or duties to perform, save one man.

Arthur sat in his room. He walked the corridors. He paced the council chambers. He ate and slept. But oddly, ridiculously, in the midst of the interregnum, Arthur had nothing to do. Sir Leon was in charge of the knights and the guard for the moment; the only duty Arthur had was to be fitted for his coronation robes at some point. Standing at a window and watching the activity in the courtyard below, Arthur realised that he was actually looking forward to it as the high point of his week. And promptly felt ridiculous.

Losing his father was hard enough, but on top of that to feel so useless, so unnecessary was agony. He needed something to do, some diversion or duty or _anything_ but this waiting around. He kept to himself as much as he could, knowing that if anything tested his nearly non-existent patience he would probably say something that he would regret later. Observing the comings and goings around the castle was interesting, anyway, and took up much of his time.

Boredom wasn’t his greatest concern – there was one thought that persisted day and night, through every conversation and every other act. A thought Arthur spoke of to no one, but led him constantly back to the windows to scrutinise the crowds below.

_Where was Merlin?_

~

The day after Uther’s funeral, Arthur was waiting in the council chambers, listening to a report from Sir Leon. Several nobles of the court were there as well as a few knights, but it was a fairly informal gathering. Arthur was half listening to Leon, and half absent-mindedly watching the sunlight’s glow on the stone. That golden glow on the dark stone, so familiar… golden sparks in blue eyes…

“…and as overall the borders seem secure I would recommend that…”

Arthur nodded absent-mindedly at each pause in Leon’s speech, knowing that the knight was reliable enough to work without Arthur’s interference. But unexpectedly – or had he always been expecting it? – there was a knock on the door, and a guard leant in.

“My lord,” he began, “there is a man here who would speak with you.”

Heart racing and mouth suddenly dry but his expression revealing nothing, Arthur nodded.

“Show him in.”

The doors opened, and in came –

_\- untidy black hair and vivid blue eyes and smile to break hearts -_

 - a dark-haired man in old chainmail, who bowed before addressing Arthur.

“My lord.”

Arthur smiled, disappointment curling in his stomach. Lancelot, of course.

“Lancelot, it’s good to see you,” Arthur said with genuine warmth, despite his inner discontent. “There are rooms prepared for you; I’m sure Sir Leon would be more than happy to show you to them.” Leon, realising that this was a dismissal, nodded and escorted Lancelot out of the room as Arthur leant back in his chair, gazing out of the window. The rest of the court followed Leon, seeing that Arthur was no longer attentive. Arthur barely noticed them go.

~

There was a courtly meal that evening. Funereal meats on the table and most of the court in the customary black, including Arthur – and yet it was hardly a dull affair. The death of a king, Arthur was learning, may be a tragedy but life went on without pause and the focus was quickly shifting from Uther’s death to Arthur’s approaching coronation, the mood of the people with it. Arthur was even more unfocused than usual, but the court was expecting it now. He supposed that most of them thought his silence was a mourning one, which would have made much more sense than its real cause. Guinevere was seated at his left, and he could almost feel her happiness at Lancelot’s return. He pushed away his goblet of wine, knowing once again that getting drunk would be a bad idea. Tempting, but bad.

~

The hearing of the people the next day was a long and dull one. But oddly, Arthur felt excited, anticipating something that he could not put his finger on. As though he had been looking forward to this day for months, years even, and now that it had come he could not remember why. But it still had him on edge most of the day.

Every few minutes he would glance around the room, half certain that he had seen movement where there was none, heard footsteps when there was silence. But it was not until everyone else began to leave that he became deeply, deeply certain that something was going to happen.

He said nothing, merely waited as the rest of the court left a few at a time. His gaze caught none of them, as he sat with his head lowered and his eyes on the floor, deep in thought.

Finally everyone was gone, and the great doors swung shut with a thud. Arthur looked up.

A cloaked figure stood there, alone in the centre of the otherwise empty room. Arthur’s breath seemed to stop, his eyes fixed on the pale, slender hands as they rose to remove the hood.

Revealed – black hair, neater and slightly longer than before, curling around still-overlarge ears to brush against the smooth black lines of a druidic tattoo that swept from the jaw line down the left side of the neck. The cloak was a dull grey-black, and tucked into the collar was a tiny blue forest flower the exact shade of those bright, sharp eyes.

The room was still as the two men looked at each other. Then the newcomer gave a respectful bow.

“Your majesty.” The voice was the same, but also completely different; the same pitch and harmonic, but there was something missing. After a moment, Arthur realised what it was.

There was no mockery. The voice might have been that of his old manservant but the tone was that of a courtier – respectful, calm, subservient.

Wrong.

“I return to my place, sire, and await your commands.”

Arthur swallowed. If this was what he wanted, then the gods knew he had earned it by any other man’s standards.

“How do you fare?” Arthur asked politely, his voice shaking slightly. _What’s happened to you?_

“I fare well; I have studied long and hard to hone my skills for this time, and I hope that you will not find them wanting.”

The words were not stilted or stuttered but they jarred so strongly, coming from –

“Merlin.” Arthur couldn’t help it; the name just slipped out. He kept his eyes fixed on the sorcerer before him, desperate for some sign, some clue that this was still his old friend. His old lover.

“Yes, my lord?”

Nothing. Just blank politeness. Arthur swallowed.

“I’ve arranged temporary chambers for you in the south wing; in the next few days you may pick out a more permanent residence,” he said, falling back on courtly protocol, his mind whirling. “You’ve had a long journey – you are more than welcome to take the rest of the afternoon for yourself.”

“Thank you, my lord.” With that and a shallow parting bow, the dark-haired man left the room. Arthur was left sitting on the cold throne and feeling more empty than he had ever thought possible.


	3. Provocation

“Merlin, hurry up with my boots.”

Merlin looked up and saw Arthur standing by the window, looking out at the dawn. Another normal day.

But no; wait; this wasn’t right. Merlin could feel his druidic robes against his skin, so different from his old servant’s clothes. He looked down, and he wasn’t holding boots but two silver rings. He looked up again at Arthur, who turned, the dawn light forming a crown in his golden hair that was almost blinding. The rings in his palm burned –

\- and then he was following Arthur down the corridor, only one set of footsteps echoing on the floor, and Merlin realised that they were his own because Arthur was barefoot below his kingly robes -

\- and then Arthur turned a corner, and when Merlin followed he had vanished. The corridor was darker and taller than he had expected, and as he went to turn around he realised that he was no longer in control of his movements. He was walking along quietly trying not to be heard; and then around another corner, guards! He pulled himself into an alcove before he could be seen, and then cupped his hands around his mouth and whispered. Something clunked down the other end of the corridor. Both guards looked around and moved a few feet away from the doors that they were guarding, and then he was moving, running with soft feet, constantly casting more distraction spells with a magic that was not Merlin’s own.

He was through the door, and into the room. But not just any room.

The chambers of the king-to-be.

The curtains around the bed were closed as he approached them. With pale hands, he took a small leather bag out of a pocket. As he held the bag, he saw that the tips of his fingers were covered in a myriad of tiny scars. He reached into the bag, some kind of powder gripped between his fingers – and then he was reaching to pull back the curtain around the bed, a dawning sense of triumph –

Merlin woke up, his eyes wide, absolutely still as the fear flooded through him. Fighting the desire to run to Arthur’s chambers, he muttered a few calming spell-words and then let his magic spread from him in the way that he had been taught. He felt it seep through the castle, gently passing over sleeping minds and leaving behind only the fleeting impression of unseen gold. He focussed it onto Arthur’s chambers, prying into every corner and crevice. But the guards were in their places, the air was undisturbed, and Arthur was – awake? Merlin frowned, and focused slightly more. Arthur seemed to have jerked awake at the same time as Merlin; he was sitting upright, breathing heavily, but calming now that he could clearly see that nothing was amiss. Had they shared a dream? Merlin wondered. Perhaps it was something he would have to look into. For the moment, all was well; best to go back to _sleep_. The last word he breathed out quietly, knowing it would soothe Arthur’s mind as well as his own.

Merlin wasn’t aware of it, but a few minutes later he and Arthur fell back to sleep at exactly the same moment.

~

The following day, and Arthur and Guinevere were near to finishing the hearing of the people.

The guards brought the last person in to stand in the centre of the room, and Arthur heard Guinevere smother a gasp. He turned to look.

The young boy was sandy-haired and freckled. He was shaking, trembling, his wide blue eyes focused straight at the ground, terrified.

Arthur had no words for a moment, before clearing his dry throat and forcing out the words that he had to say.

“What has this boy been charged with?” he called. A guard stepped forward.

“Sorcery, sire.”

Those two words fell into the quiet chamber like iron bars dropping to the floor. Of course. Sorcery was the only crime that would cause a child to be brought before the court.

Arthur glanced across to Merlin again where he stood in that shadowed corner. How could this boy be condemned when he, Arthur, had invited a sorcerer into the castle and given him his freedom? Uther’s laws were still officially in place until the coronation, but as king-to-be Arthur had the power to waive them.

“What is your name?” Arthur asked. The boy looked up at him fearfully for a second before going back to staring frantically at the floor.

“M-mark, sire,” he whispered.

“And what,” Arthur asked of the guard, “was the occurrence that caused you to call him before this court?”

The guard shuffled, slightly uncomfortable at being given his king’s full attention.

“He – um – he turned me into a pig, my lord.”

There was a ripple of quickly hushed chuckles around the court. Arthur raised his eyebrows.

“Really?” he asked, in the same tone of voice that he had long ago used when catching Merlin in a lie. “You don’t look that piggish to me.”

“He reversed it, my lord.” The guard was blushing red.

“I see.” Arthur looked back to the young boy. He could not have been more than eight years of age. “And what do you have to say to this, Mark? You may speak.”

“I-I didn’t mean to,” the pale boy stuttered. “He came out of n-nowhere and I was frightened and he – he just…” he bit his lip. Arthur took pity on him, and spoke to the court in general.

“So far as I can see, no harm has been done,” he said, eyes roving the chamber the way his father had taught him, watching for naysayers. “Does anyone here know any way in which anyone was harmed?”

Silence. No one spoke. Arthur could feel all their eyes upon him, and knew how important this moment was.

“I do not see that this young boy should be punished,” he said. “In future, however,” he said to the guards, “perhaps you should spend more of your time looking for those who aim to steal and hurt than scaring small children.”

The matter was ended, and with it most of the court made their exit. As they were leaving, Guinevere leant closer and spoke to Arthur.

“I think you made the right decision. Things have changed.”

Arthur raised his eyebrows, gazing vaguely ahead, resisting the urge to turn to Merlin and ask him. _Did I do it right?_

“They have not changed much yet,” he replied to Gwen, who shook her head.

“I think they have,” she said. “That laughter today; they never would have laughed had Uther been there.”

With that she rose, and left Arthur to his own thoughts. When the door had closed behind her, Arthur spoke.

“Merlin, come forward,” he said.

The slender sorcerer was before him without delay, giving the customary bow before straightening up, his eyes lowered respectfully.

“My lord,” he said.

Arthur gazed at him for several seconds, letting the silence stretch out. Then he made his decision.

“Where have you been all this time?” he asked, careful to maintain the façade of a king speaking to a courtier. Merlin seemed to have expected his question.

“I studied with the woodland druids, my lord.”

“I was not aware that the woodland druids taught courtly manners to their students.”

There was a slightly longer pause before Merlin’s reply this time, but no other noticeable reaction.

“I spent enough time here before my… absence… to learn, my lord.”

“Funny, I always thought you were incapable of learning any manners.”

That got a reaction. Merlin’s eyes flashed irately to Arthur’s face – it lasted less than a second before he had returned to perfect courtly deference, but it had been there. A glimpse of the old Merlin. Perhaps insulting him had not been kind, but when it came down to it how had the two of them met? If Arthur had to go through those years of quarrelling and disrespect again in order to get to Merlin’s heart, then he had absolutely no qualms about doing so. The only thing he feared was never being able to reach again that bond that they had once had.

Aware that he had let the silence stretch out again, Arthur shifted in his throne and spoke again.

“Have you settled on a place to make your permanent residence yet?” he enquired coolly. Merlin shook his head.

“Not yet, my lord,” he replied. Another awkward, too-long pause – but between the two of them the smallest moment seemed too long now.

“Well, your position will not be instated until the coronation,” Arthur said, giving up on deciphering Merlin any more on this occasion. “You have no duties until then that I am aware of; I shall send for you if you are needed. You have the freedom of the castle, however I would suggest you avoid displaying your talents in front of the guards until the law has officially changed.”

“Yes my lord; thank you, my lord.”

“You may go.”

After Merlin had left, Arthur headed straight downstairs to train with a practice dummy. He spent the rest of the afternoon venting his frustration, to no avail.

_What next?_


	4. Gaius (an interlude)

After the king’s death, Gaius was called away by an illness in the village of Meara, three miles away from the city, and did not return for several days. He returned to a strange, unsettled Camelot. The people were tense and quiet, but not with fear; the whole city was ripe with anticipation. Rumours flitted across the streets like beings with lives of their own, changing slightly with each pair of lips they passed through.

_“Lancelot has returned to the city to be knighted…”_

_“Prince Arthur released a boy accused of sorcery…”_

_“There’s a druid staying in the castle…”_

_“He’s the prince’s old manservant…”_

_“A guest of Arthur’s…”_

_“Merlin…”_

These words only sped Gaius’ passage through the city to his workroom in the castle. He had known that Merlin was destined to return to serve Arthur, but part of him had always feared that Merlin’s departure from Camelot five years ago would be permanent.

Abandoning his things in his workroom, Gaius walked through the castle’s halls looking for Merlin, or someone who might know where he would be. After asking a guard and then a maid, neither of whom had any answers for him, it was nightfall when he finally saw Leon at the end of a corridor.

“Sir Leon!” Gaius called. Leon turned, and upon seeing who it was made his way towards him.

“Gaius!” the knight exclaimed. “I didn’t realise that you were back from Meara.”

“Only just,” Gaius said. “I heard…” he quietened his voice somewhat, “I heard that Merlin had returned.”

Leon appeared to have been expecting this, for his face bore no surprise as he nodded.

“He arrived the day before yesterday,” he said, and then hesitated before continuing. “Gaius… I have seen him only briefly myself, but by all accounts he seems… much changed.”

Gaius, uncharacteristically, all but ignored this.

“Do you know where he’d be?” he asked. Sir Leon nodded.

“His quarters are currently in the south wing,” he said. Gaius thanked him and moved on; Leon watched the older man walk away for a moment, uncertainty in his gaze, before continuing on his errand.

~

Gaius had reached the right door, finally. He knocked and, upon hearing no answer, swung it open a little way. The room was dark, lit only by the moonlight; there was a tall shadow by the window.

“Merlin?”

The silhouette at the window turned, moving enough to suddenly be recognisable – and there was Merlin, as tall and gangly as ever but now with some grasp of grace in his movements. Gaius moved towards him, picking out the finer details of change as he did so. Merlin’s dark hair was a little longer, making his ears stand out less. The druidic tattoo emphasised his pale skin, almost luminescent in the rising moonlight. His slender frame in the plain robe seemed more controlled.

But the greatest change was in his smile.

“It’s good to see you, Gaius,” he said, his voice warm but without the slightly childish lilt that Gaius remembered. Gaius had to jolt himself to reply, pulling his expression into a pleased one.

“And you, my lad,” he said, embracing Merlin. Gaius thought he could feel the ridge of Merlin’s spine through his robes, but they parted quickly and he could not be certain.

“How have you been?” the young sorcerer asked, his expression politely curious. Gaius nodded.

“Well, thank you; and you?”

“I’ve learnt much.”

They continued as manners allowed for a minute or so more, before Gaius brought the conversation to a close.

“It’s very late, I’ve no wish to keep you up,” he said courteously. “Goodnight, Merlin.”

“Goodnight, Gaius,” Merlin replied, “it was good to speak with you.”

Gaius left, closing the door behind him. He made his way swiftly back through the castle, not stopping until he reached his chambers and sat down in his chair, his mind in a flurry of thought.

_I’ve learnt much…_

Much indeed. Gaius had known Merlin for three years, and during that time he had seen the young sorcerer go through happiness, grief, fear, anger, joy, regret – emotion after emotion, all worn on his sleeve for everyone to see. But now…

Gaius feared suddenly for his charge’s experiences away from Camelot; what could have happened that had taught open, barrier-less Merlin to lie to him with a smile?


	5. Confrontation

Merlin had spent much of the day in the library; when he returned to his temporary chambers that evening, Arthur was waiting for him.

The king-to-be was leaning against the window frame, the fading sunlight playing in his golden hair. Merlin halted in the doorway and gave the customary bow.

“My lord,” he murmured, before going over to the desk and tidying his belongings for something to occupy him. He could not pretend for long, however, as he had not really left a mess. He resorted to standing calmly in the growing dimness, waiting for Arthur to speak. The minutes spun out.

“Did you miss me at all?”

The words were barely more than a whisper, but Merlin heard them. Appropriate, courtly responses lined up in his mind, but then Arthur turned to face him and the undecipherably dark expression in his eyes drove Merlin’s preparations from his mind.

“Did you?” Arthur asked again, voice a little stronger, but only just. He took a few slow steps towards Merlin, putting them within an arm’s reach of each other in the small room.

“I missed you,” the blond murmured. Merlin did not reply, unmoving, but something inside him felt a pull. He could almost see himself in Arthur’s eyes. Soft, pale skin stretched over angular cheekbones.

Merlin shivered as Arthur’s sweeping eyes were replaced by fingertips, rough pads of skin moving gently against the lines of his face, his throat, his collarbone –

“ _No…_ ”

It was just a murmur, barely heard, something many men would have ignored – but Arthur stopped still, frozen, knowing that although he would hear no whisper of complaint, if he continued beyond this point he would have crossed a line.

“Merlin,” he breathed, unmoving.

There was a pause of absolute stillness; and then Merlin spoke.

“It’s late, sire,” he said, his manner once again courtly, respectful – but he had not moved away and there was a slightly rough quality to his voice. “Should you not be returning to the Lady Guinevere.”

It was not a question.

But Arthur had finally had enough.

“What the _hell_ happened to you, Merlin!?” he exploded. He regretted it instantly as Merlin flinched violently away from him, but he could not stop now.

“I was trying to contact you, trying to find you anywhere; I followed goose chase after goose chase, rumour after rumour and you weren’t anywhere! And now you come back here as though nothing has changed when you’ve spent four years ignoring me –”

“Oh really?” Merlin snarled back, finally provoked. “You were the one who stopped turning up to meet me, you were the one who left me alone when you had Gwen and now you expect me to hurt her like this? You –”

“I wrote to you! I left you a letter to explain and you just ignored me!”

“There was no letter! I waited for you because you asked me to, waited month after month but you never came because you’re nothing but a coward and LIAR!”

The chamber was silent apart from the breathing and the echo of Merlin’s last word which seemed to hang in the air. For the first time, Arthur saw the anguish in Merlin’s eyes. For the first time, he felt the pain of knowing that he had put it there.

“There was a letter, I swear,” he said, willing Merlin to believe him. “Leon swore to me he left it in our usual place, I waited for your response as long as I could but in the end –” Arthur’s words dried up in his throat. In the end he had been forced to assume Merlin’s silence was permission. In the end, he had given up on him.

Merlin was gazing steadily at Arthur, his expression unreadable. Arthur licked his lips and forced the truth from his dry throat.

“I swear to you.”

There was a pause. Then Merlin turned and left the room, summoning his cloak to his shoulders wordlessly as he left. Arthur stood there for a few minutes, lost, before returning to his own chambers.

He was later informed that Merlin had left the city on horseback at speed.

~ 

The camp was quiet when Isa looked up from the dress that she was mending.

“Storm,” she murmured.

Merlin entered the camp barely moments later. He ignored those who hailed him in greeting, approaching Jethar who was standing with one or two others and discussing weather magic.

“Emrys!” Jethar said, looking first pleased before confused at Merlin’s dark expression. He didn’t have a chance to question it, however, before Merlin swung at him. Merlin had never been much of a fighter, but neither had Jethar – and Merlin had trained with Arthur Pendragon. His fist caught Jethar on the chin, knocking him to the ground on his back, eyes wide with shock.

The others in the camp were drawn to the scene immediately, two of the men and then a third rushing in to hold Merlin back as he struggled to reach Jethar.

“Did you think I’d never find out?” Merlin all but hissed as the three druids fought to restrain him. “Did you think it wouldn’t matter, I’d never notice? Is that –” his eyes and Jethar’s were locked “- is that why you didn’t want me to go back, to find out what you’d done? To find out that you betrayed me!”

Merlin’s magic surged within him, flicking the other druids away from him like flies. He advanced on Jethar who pushed himself backwards, crawling in reverse along the ground as Merlin’s magic soared with anger, Arthur’s face in his mind. He raised his hand to cast –

\- and a strong hand caught his wrist. Merlin turned, about to curse the obstruction from him, when his eyes met Mylan’s and a younger voice reached his ears.

“Emrys, what’s wrong?”

Isa. Between Isa and Mylan, something ugly inside Merlin was soothed a little. Slowly, he lowered his hand, never looking away from Mylan’s eyes as the older druid released his hold on Merlin’s wrist. No one else was moving, all eyes on the scene.

“Ask _him_ ,” Merlin spat eventually, his pain now more evident in his voice than his anger.

“You’re hurt,” Isa said softly. Merlin felt her take his other hand gently in hers, and realised that it was aching with a dull pain. He must have hit it on his way to the camp, so full of fury that he had not noticed.

“It’s not that bad,” he muttered. The tension in the camp seemed to have defused slightly, but everyone was still on edge. Jethar was still in the same position on the floor, but he had raised a hand to the blooming bruise on his chin. Merlin took a few steps back, looking away. Mylan turned to Jethar, still keeping one eye on Merlin.

“Jethar?” Mylan asked, his voice patient. He did not need to press the matter; he held enough respect that neither Jethar nor Merlin would have hid it from him for long.

“I was trying to protect him,” Jethar muttered. “It wasn’t safe, you can’t trust men like _him_ –”

He was quickly silenced as Merlin turned back to him, livid, but Mylan put a hand on his shoulder. _Wait._

“What did you do?” he asked calmly.

Jethar did not look at him.

“There was a letter for him.”

“And what did you do with it?”

“I – I burnt it.”

Whispers and murmuring of disapproval and curiosity filled the camp for a few moments, before Mylan quietened them with a gesture.

“Why?” he asked. His tone was grave. The druid community functioned almost entirely on trust, and a breach of it to this extent was therefore taken very seriously. Jethar just looked down at the ground. Merlin stared at him.

“Why?” he asked, his voice barely more than a whisper. Silence. And then –

“Because he doesn’t deserve you!”

The words burst out of Jethar like startled birds. They echoed in the silence, painful, naked, but that did not phase him. He was back on his feet, almost as angry as Merlin had been.

“He used what you had and when things got too dangerous, he sent you away!” he shouted. “You keep running back to him when you belong here with us – you’ll never be able to trust him but you’re too blind to see it!”

The sounds of birds in the distance and Jethar’s heavy breathing where the only things breaking the silence. He swallowed, looking down again.

“I just – I just wanted…”

His voice betrayed him. Merlin had been shaking with anger, but now that he had recognised a certain quality in Jethar’s voice he understood. He had been too wrapped in thoughts of Arthur, had not seen, had not noticed, the way Jethar’s eyes would follow him during the day, the admiring tone in his voice, the pride in his eyes when Merlin complimented his spellcraft.

Merlin looked at Jethar with his newfound understanding, and knew that he had no right to punish him further. The others would do that – he would be relegated to tasks that required the least trust until he earned it again – but Merlin, although his anger was still there, knew not to say any more. He turned and met Mylan’s eyes, who had also understood, and nodded.

“I have nothing more to say,” he said quietly, his throat dry. “I must return at once to my duties.” Mylan nodded at him in acknowledgement, and Merlin began to walk away. He left the camp without looking back.

His horse was tethered nearby, and he began the ride back. He went slowly at first, trying to fight the urge to curl up and cry, but out of nowhere he suddenly felt his heart clench and his breath race. In his mind’s eye he saw Arthur; and he felt the danger overcoming him. Arthur was in trouble, even if he did not know it yet.

Merlin spurred the horse into a gallop and raced back to Camelot, praying that he would reach it in time.


	6. Return

The morning had risen and the night had begun to fall and Merlin had not yet returned. Arthur was not concerned for his safety – it had used to take him the better part of half a day to reach the clearing they had formerly met in, and the druid’s camp was undoubtedly further in the other direction. Arthur had not needed telling where Merlin had gone. Instead he paced about the castle. Two days, two days until his coronation. He’d been measured for his robes, and fitted for them, and there was nothing left for him to do. Everything was on hold; everyone was waiting. 

Arthur waited for Merlin.  
 

Merlin was half an hour’s ride away from Camelot when his vision started to flicker and he flung his sense as far ahead as he could. Among all the familiar, mundane citizens, guards and knights came a sharp, black slice. A well-known fear. 

Mordred. 

~

Arthur’s spacious chambers seemed cramped and confined as he wore down the flagstones with his feet. With Merlin present it had always somehow felt more open, as though the sorcerer’s very presence had brought a fresh breeze with it. But now he was not there, and the air was thick and dull and nothing moved save for Arthur, only pausing occasionally to glance out of the window. 

~ 

The hooves of Merlin’s horse clattered on the cobblestones of the lower town as he raced through the streets. The few guards who tried to stop him were spelled out of his way – not harmed, merely unconscious – Merlin had no time to explain himself. If Mordred was here in Camelot, then he would be heading for Arthur. 

~ 

Arthur had retired to his bed early when, unable to sleep, he heard the door swing open a crack. He was about to turn over, frowning, to ascertain the intruder’s identity; but he found that he could not. Instead, there was a whisper in his mind; or perhaps whisper was not the right word, as it was more a feeling than anything else.

_Sleep,_ it said. _Be still_. He fought it, but it began to overwhelm him; a sleep like water, suffocating, drowning… and then the soft pad of small feet approaching the bed.

Arthur felt his thoughts fuzz and blur together, images of wide, cold eyes, of figures drowned in the well, of the tiny druid boy… he was sinking, and not attempting to swim. There was no need. Sinking was the only thing he could feel.

His downward progress continued and he lost track of everything outside of his own mind. Some small part of him, however, still burning with fury under the smothering liquid, heard the bang of the door and a familiar voice, shouting.

“Arthur!”

That was his name, Arthur. Not a bad name, as names go. Not very exciting. Not like some of the other names around. Gwaine was reasonable, Leon fairly strong-sounding, and Lancelot frankly _ridiculous_ , and as for Merlin –

Merlin. That was Merlin’s voice. Merlin was calling for him.

That thought lit a spark in his sluggish brain, and he struggled towards it. Merlin.

“Arthur!”

Merlin.

“Arthur! Arthur, please!”

Merlin. _Merlin, I’m coming,_

“Arthur!”

“Merlin?” his voice was croaky as he warily opened his eyes, hitting the real world again with some pain but an overwhelming sense of relief.

“Arthur!” he heard again, and then felt a familiar hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Merlin, looking as young as he had his first day in Camelot, tears streaking down his face, staring at him desperately. Arthur reached up to touch the side of his face and smiled.

“Am I really that awful to look at?” he tried. But Merlin just stared at him, and as Arthur pulled himself upright in bed Merlin sank down onto the mattress, his thin frame shaking. Arthur pulled him into his arms, not knowing what to say. He tried the soothing nothings he had heard from his nurse as a child; all ‘there there’s and ‘hush’s, but nothing he said seemed to sink in. All Merlin did was stare straight ahead and shake as the tears ran silently.

A few minutes passed quietly.

“Jethar,” Merlin said softly. Arthur frowned.

“What?” he asked. Merlin gave a tiny quirk of the lips, but not a real smile.

“Who, not what,” he replied. “Jethar, my friend, he…”

Arthur had to fight the rising anger he felt as Merlin quietly explained what had happened. How dare anyone make Merlin feel like this? How could anyone who professed to be a friend to Merlin, _Merlin_ of all people, ever even contemplate…

Instead of ranting, Arthur merely held Merlin a little tighter.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into Merlin’s dark hair. Merlin pulled away slightly to meet Arthur’s eyes.

“Don’t be,” he said. “I don’t want you to be sorry.”

Arthur could not prevent the smile at that.

“What do you want me to be, then?” he asked, his tone light but his eyes serious. When Merlin answered, his voice was honest. 

“Just Arthur.”

~ 

Fortunately for many people, Lancelot was the first to call on the king-to-be the next morning. Upon receiving no answer, he checked up and down the corridor before quietly edging the door open enough to look through. What he saw, he never spoke of to another soul.

Arthur and Merlin were coiled together on the bed, Merlin’s head on Arthur’s chest, Arthur’s arm sprawled across Merlin protectively. Lancelot smiled before slipping the door closed again and resolving to wait at the end of the corridor to delay anyone thinking to disturb Arthur that morning.


	7. Future (an epilogue)

The courtyard was full to the bursting; every possible step, window, and even roof was covered with people. And all of them were quiet, expectant, as Arthur stepped forward on the royal balcony and spoke to them.

“People of Camelot,” he began.

“I look out across this city, this kingdom; and I see something great. Something magnificent. Something that it has taken more years than I know to build.”

“My father,” Arthur paused, “was a good man. He protected his kingdom the best that he knew; and he rewarded those who served him well. Many years ago, he banned all forms of sorcery and magic from this kingdom, on penalty of death. And upon my word, that punishment will still stand for those who use the black arts or dark magic.”

The words rang through the courtyard with truth and certainty.

“But times and knowledge change; and although I will always respect my father for what he stood for and although I will always stand in awe of his achievements, I believe that there are people that need recognising.

“These people are sorcerers. Warlocks, witches… and I have no doubt that there are some, here amongst us today.”

The people all glanced around at each other quickly, searching the faces around their own, before returning their attention to Arthur.

“And yet these are not the people whom the law in my kingdom will condemn.” Arthur continued. “These people work as hard as their neighbour; they are as honest as myself. They rejoice at good times, and cry at bad ones. Just the same as anyone else. They are mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, sons and daughters. In the years before this day, they would have been punished for their singular difference: their magic. But no more.”

Arthur straightened his back and stood tall.

“From this day forward, new laws are in place, that I have signed with my own hand. Those who practise evil magic; those who seek only to hurt, to kill; those who care not who their practices injure; those people will face the punishment for their actions.

“But those who heal? Those who help, those who aid, those who do no worse than an ordinary citizen of Camelot? They are welcome here. From this day forward.” Arthur glanced to the side briefly, seeing Merlin standing in the shadow of the doorway, and repeated, “they are welcome here.”

He turned back to the crowds.

“I look upon this kingdom and I see something great. But with your help; with acceptance, and time, and forgiveness, I hope that together we can build something greater still.”

As the cheering began, Arthur’s words echoed all along the city streets, Merlin took a small step forward into the sunlight. Not to be seen; but to better watch King Arthur of Camelot embrace his kingdom.


End file.
